


Only Her

by Luthien



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-05
Updated: 2005-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-14 19:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/pseuds/Luthien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of 'the Order of the Phoenix', Snape considers the state of things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Her

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2005, so has since been overtaken by canon.

The sun has set, late, as is fitting this close to midsummer, and it's quite dark outside, or would be, if not for the almost full moon hanging low above the horizon. The warm night air can't reach the dungeons, of course, but the enchanted window lets the moonlight spill across the bedroom floor much as the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall shows a perfect copy of the sky outside.

He can't stop his hand from straying across to shape itself against her belly as they lie together, loose-limbed and naked in his bed, this first night after her return. Beneath his hand, her shape is the same as it's ever been, but, just the same, his mind strays unbidden to images of that gentle curve growing round, growing round with the proof that she is his.

He knows that it can't be. For one thing, it might easily endanger her. She's not quite past the age for childbearing, but she's getting close, and Snape does not place much faith in biology. Nor does he place much faith in anything else, or anyone.

Only her.

He can't endanger her. He won't.

And anyway, it's not a world to bring a child into, even supposing that they were free to show the world what they truly are to each other. Hard enough to hide that; impossible to hide a child.

A family.

Well, he knew that it could never be, that they could not continue as lovers, the moment they began their unwise liaison. He knew that it could never be, that they could never be more than a casual fling to each other, as he asked a question of her that he knew he had no right to voice.

And he knew that it could never be, that she could never answer in the affirmative, even as she did so - though not with the empty-headed enthusiasm of any other female he could think of in a similar situation. She answered him with a grave nod, just as aware as he of the risks involved in the asking and replying, never mind those attached to doing the deed itself.

He longs to show the world that she is his. That he won her, and that now she is "Mine. My wife. Mine."

But it's not a good idea to let on that they are lovers, or even particular friends. It's not wise to show any sort of vulnerability. Least of all this.

Danger becomes the overriding consideration. Again.

It's not a marriage that would be recognised by those in the wizarding world to whom such things matter - who ever heard of a pureblood witch and wizard marrying in a Muggle registry office, anyway? And wasn't that the whole point? To do the deed in such a way that it was just their secret, as safe as such a dangerous fact could ever be. The headmaster might suspect how they spend too many of their nights - Dumbledore has ways of knowing almost everything that goes on in his school - but he can't know more than that two of his staff, trusted lieutenants both, are finding comfort with each other. And if that is, perhaps, unwise, they are, at least, unfailingly discreet.

Discretion is a knife to his heart, too often for his liking. When she fell, he could do nothing. When they took her away to St Mungo's, his hands were tied. He had to remain here and trust her to the care of others in whom he had no trust - or faith - at all.

He had to stop himself today, when she arrived back. He almost gave himself away, striding forward and just barely stopping himself from breaking into a run. Just barely stopping himself from taking her by the shoulders and gripping her tightly to make absolutely certain that she was solid and real. Still, he came close enough to reach out a hand and touch her - though he didn't - and close enough to smell her - which he did. That proof calmed him sufficiently to remember where they were and who was present - a fact that, he was sure, had not escaped her mind. As always, her self-possession was remarkable, and unique amongst women, surely. She caught his eye, then, and so they performed another installment of their formal routine, the head of house rivalry for which they are justly famous.

Lying here, now, and looking back on the events of the afternoon, he knows he did not hide his relief at her return as well as he should have. Just as well that Malfoy and Potter were too focused on their own rivalry to notice that their professors' has an edge to it that isn't enmity. Just as well that Crabbe and Goyle were too stunned by Minerva's imperious demands to notice anything else.

Just as well that she is here, now, warm and alive and curled against him as she sighs softly in her sleep. Here, in this room and in this bed, they can be husband and wife and pretend that there isn't a world outside.

Until the sun rises, and their routine starts up all over again.


End file.
